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It
was with some anticipation that I loaded up the Falcon, turned
the key and swung out into northbound flowing traffic. My
final destination was Gnarloo station, or to be more precise
the warm turquoise waters and white sand of Gnarloo bay, 12hrs
drive north of Perth. With these pictures in my mind, I wove
in and out of heavy Easter traffic to pick up Cory, a mate
who was just as eager to have a crack at the piscatorial pleasures
that were undo, undoubtedly awaiting us both. Also waiting
for us to arrive were a group of friends who had made base
camp earlier. They had requested we tow up a trailer full
of supplies, and its worth noting if you are visiting Gnarloo,
take spare fuel and plenty of fresh water. Even though the
station has a fantastic set up, you can't get these items,
so be prepared. Its best to book in advance as it gets pretty
busy during school holidays and it's two hours back to Carnarvon
if you can't get in. You can reach Gnarloo with a conventional
2- wheel drive but be warned there is 70kms of corrugated
dirt road before you reach the station. The bay itself is
a further 10km north. Launching off the beach is easy with
small craft but a 4- wheel drive is recommended with anything
bigger, the camp grounds have a tractor to help with launching
as it tends to be boggy.
We
arrived early morning after an arduous 12 hour drive. What
a treat it was to be greeted with a smile, cold beer and a
comfortable, fully set up camp. We just knew the next few
days were going to be special. A few hours sleep and I was
set to go. After picking our way south along the rugged coastline
we came across a small beautiful white sand beach, surrounded
by shallow turquoise water. The outer edge of a fantastic
looking coral reef could clearly be seen through my Polaroid's
about 400 meters out. The breakers crumbling stark white against
the dark blue of the ocean. Kitting up fast we slipped into
the gin clear water and with long powerful kicks glided over
the myriad of tropical fish that make their home among the
coral of the inner reef. The distant rumble of the breakers
rolled through the lagoon, growing louder as we neared the
surf zone. The push pull of the surge became stronger and
I had to grip the coral hard like a crab as the surf broke
around my ears. With one final kick and a shove from the back
wash I launched out over the reef edge into the blue.
The
ocean was about 40 to 50 feet deep and I instantly felt a
change, a tranquility that I have since come to seek out with
each one of my dives in deeper water. In fact I suspect it's
the reason I choose to freedive in the first place. Taking
a series of long slow breaths I slowed my heart rate, moving
in slow motion I bent at the waist and began a slow descent.
At about 12 feet negative buoyancy came into play, aiding
an effortless glide. As I neared the bottom, which was mostly
dark rock with great looking fissures and lumps, a medium
sized Baldchin Groper ghosted in, pectoral fins fanning like
a birds wings, just out of range. Baldchin are a member of
the tuskfish clan, but can be found as far south as Augusta
in Western Australia and attain a maximum size of about 8-10kg.
They are also great eating, big white flaky meat, and a mild
flavor that just melt in the mouth. With these thoughts in
mind I settled on the bottom and started to through up small
clouds of grit, they are a curious fish and I kept my eye
on him as he approached, using a small bombie as cover. Baldchin
are fairly predictable and this fellow was no exception, he
poked his head around to take a peek, straight into the firing
line. I felt the shock of the spear as it hit, WHACK, the
Baldy died instantly, fins flaring body arched. Feeling the
urge to breath, I kicked toward the surface. It was further
than I thought. Exhaling strongly I hung on the surface breathing
slowly and deeply. Recovering quickly I strung my fish and
slipped beneath the surface, my senses alive, the hunt giving
me almost extra sensory perception. Silently cruising down
to where I stoned the first baldy I began a lazy kick across
the bottom, scanning. The bottom dipped into a natural amphitheater
and as I approached the lip, a "bomber" baldy, 6-7kg,
almost ran me down. It seemed his eyes grew larger and his
jaw dropped in shock. The dull sound of my spear gun firing
echoed through the ocean as the spear slammed into the baldy
in a cloud of scales and blood. Not a great shot, through
the guts, he headed for cover. Needing to breath I let the
gun go, grabbed the float rope and headed for the surface.
The need for oxygen was becoming critical, the tension on
the rope slowing me down, I could hear myself groaning as
I covered the last few meters, bursting through the quicksilver
like surface that mirrored the underside of the ocean. Sucking
in great lung fulls of air I felt relief wash through me like
a cool draught of water on a hot day. Conscious of the fish
still struggling on the end of my spear I pulled him up and
dispatched him swiftly by gripping him firmly in the gills
then plunging my knife in behind his eye ike jimi style. All
the while I was aware of the blood and vibration that had
permeated the ocean, traveling like a dinner bell, dinner
time.
Time to find my dive buddy. I began to swim to where I had
last seen Gav. Off in the distance I saw movement, a vague
shadow, must be him. Wrong, unless Gav was eight feet long,
fat, barrel chested and looked just like a shark. Out of the
depths materialized one of the most efficient hunters in the
ocean, with effortless grace a large whaler glided in. For
all his size and menace he was still cautious, I stood my
ground and marveled at his shear efficiency and economy of
movement. There were no outward signs of aggression and with
a flick of his tail he was gone. I didn't see him again. Gav
showed up and we decided to call it a day. He had nailed a
good baldy and a spangled emperor.
On the way in we saw telltale signs, big feelers waving at
us from under the plate coral. Yes please! Big jumbo crayfish,
chunky legs and super size bodies. Western reds and tropical.
Catching crays (lobster without the claws) is were I learnt
to breath hold dive, and I consider myself no slouch. They
were all 1.5 to 3kg and had no where to run. Easy. However
they tend to be aggressive and will actually charge you, spiky
horns and feelers held straight out, cheeky buggers. The best
way to eat jumbo crays is to remove all the meat, cracking
the tail between your palms and peeling the shell away, then
dice up the meat flower it and shallow fry. Crayfish nuggets,
better than KFC!
What an amazing experience, I never feel more alive then when
I'm in an environment such as this. There are no cages, no
bars to spoil the view and best of all no loud tourist taking
snapshots overyour shoulder, and its free. By the time we
had got back to camp, cleaned up and had a shower I was absoulutley
stuffed. One cold beer, a good feed of fresh baldchin, and
I was checking out the inside of my sleeping bag.
I was awake early, my bare skin prickled as I threw back the
tent flap. The easterly chill of pre dawn was being chased
away by the first rays of the sun. Taking a deep breath I
gazed across a landscape of rich ochre earth and low spinafecs,
my eyes were drawn to the ocean, dark blue, indistinct in
the early light. White turns wheeled and dived, hunting for
breakfast. This reminded me, my stomach grumbled, I was hungry.
There's nothing like a hot bowl of porridge washed down with
a steaming mug of tea. A quick check of dive gear, fuel, bungs
in the tinny, hitch her up and off we go. It's quite a view
on the way to the bay, rugged coastline sand and sea.
The 10km past swiftly and before we knew it, were reversing
down the white sand to launch into the wide expanse of Gnarloo
bay. The easterly wind has dropped out leaving us with a calm
sea, visibility looked good. The bay can be unpredictable,
good conditions don't always mean good vis. We motored across
about 3km; Gav had his head down checking the sea floor through
the glass panel. Choosing a good size lump in about 50 feet
we tossed the pick in, Gav of course was already over the
side. I took my time preparing, nice clean mask fit snuggly,
gun sorted, weight belt on over we go.(I have forgotten my
weight belt more times than I care to mention , that's why
my mates call me Bob). The water was warm and with a glassy
green tinge, although vis was great. The bottom was easy to
see and so were the fish, baldchin again and spangled emperor,
schools of small trevally, silver and gold, and Spanish mackerel,
small though and flighty. Floating on the surface I loaded
up the "weapon", a home made 120cm rail gun made
from Tasmanian oak with an undersea handle and mech. It has
a rifle style open muzzle and I make my own 7mm spring steel
spears with Rob Allan floppers. All cheap to produce and very
reliable. Shooting a few trevally I berleyed up, spangled
emperor I find hard to shoot unless you tempt them. The depth
proved to be a problem for me as by the time I drifted down
on a good fish he had moved on out of range and was wise to
me. Not much cover either, but I managed a long shot on a
spangled emp of about 2.5kg. So far things hadn't been going
my way so I decided to chase up the boys. After a fair swim
of about 300meters I finally caught up. They were onto some
good country, about 35 to 40 feet, plate coral, caves, holes
lumps and crayfish, lots of them, all big. They had hit the
crays hard and feelers and legs lay scattered across the bottom.
Baldchin love to eat crayfish and they were having a great
time, swooping in and out crunching away with over size teeth.
Slipping beneath the surface I reached the top of a nice bombie,
easing over the edge and down, line one up, no wait there's
a bigger one…WHACK. Over he rolls, stoned, bigger than
I thought. Next dive and I'm poking about in a cave, waiting
for my eyes to adjust. A pair of strange glowing round things
looks back, then the outline of a pugnacious jaw, a cod, about
10kg worth and nice eating. Easy shot but not stoned, he bends
my spear and totally silts up the cave, a bugger of a job
getting him out. Crays fly everywhere. Back on the surface
I'm stuffed, time to rest up and get the breath back.
Right,
time to catch a feed of crayfish, let's see what left. A good
drop to the bottom, lungs fully stretched out now, feeling
fine. Its like a drug, your whole perception shifts, your
heart rate is way slow and your mind is calm. Sorry if this
sounds like an episode of Star Wars, but this is what good
freediving is. Anyway, looking around most of the crays had
left the country, except for one good ledge. It was pretty
full and I wondered why the boys had left it. I didn't have
my loop but the ledge wasn't that deep, no where for them
to run. I was reaching in to grasp one particular juicy looking
cray when something caught my eye. It was a large golden brown
cat eye about the size of a grape, attached to about 12 foot
of very well camouflaged carpet shark, his head about 6 inches
from my outstretched hand. I thought about giving him a scratch,
like hell, I absolutely craped myself. I hate carpet sharks;
they do this to me with monotonous regularity but they're
not usually half this size. They are very docile and pretty
looking, from a distance. However, I have been harassed for
my fish before and when stirred up they can be very determined.
I froze and then very slowly backed away. He could have those
crays, hell, they are a little rich for me anyway!
I dived for the next few hours, picking up some nice fish
and just enjoyed the day. The boys had done well too and as
we motored back in, we all had that easy relaxed smile, a
job well done, but you know what they say, "someone's
gotta do it".
That
night we relaxed around the camp fire with a few drinks and
thought how lucky we are in this country. To be able to dive
in near pristine environments still loaded with fish is an
absolute treat. The bag limits are still generous and with
good management the fish will still be there for future generations.
I believe in sanctuary zones, marine parks and no take areas
because without them our sport doesn't have a future. As long
as the resource is shared equally. See you out there.
Paul
McKeown
Western OZ
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